KINGOZI'S ULTIMATUM
But she did not immediately answer this. She was on fire with a new
thought.
"This is another of your--what you call--traps!" she cried. "You never
intended to kill this man with the _kiboko!_ You intended to make me
speak--as I did!"
"That's as may be," he rejoined. "At least I should have tried how far
he would have been faithful to you before telling what he knew--if you
had not spoken."
"He is faithful--to the death," she asseverated with passion.
"I am inclined to believe you are right. But that is neither here nor
there. I am waiting answers to my questions."
"And you shall wait," she took him up superbly. "I shall not answer!"
He shrugged his shoulders wearily.
"That is your affair. I must confess that I am curious to know,
however, why you did not shoot me. You have a pistol."
"Your men took that pistol."
"But not until late this morning. You had plenty of chance."
"I could not," she said, her voice taking on a curious intonation;
"there was no need."
"You mean since I went blind there was no need," he interjected quickly.
She hesitated whether to reply. Then:
"Yes, that is it," she assented.
Kingozi leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair.
"I must tell you that my blindness is not going to help you in the way
you believe," he said.
"What do I believe?" The animation of curiosity crept into her voice.
"For one thing, you believe I am no ivory hunter; and you know
perfectly why I am in this country."
"Do I?"
"Do you not?"
"Well--yes."
"Why is it, tell me."
She pondered this, then made up her mind
"I do not know why not. The time for fencing is over. I know perfectly
that you are sent by your government to make treaty with M'tela. And I
know," she added with the graciousness of one who has got back to sure
ground, "that no one could do it better; and no one as well."
"Except Winkleman," said Kingozi simply.
"Except Winkleman--perhaps."
"As you say, the time for fencing is over," pursued Kingozi. "That is
true. And it is true also that you are not merely travelling for
pleasure. You are yourself on a mission. You are Hungarian, but you are
in the employ of the German Government."
She laughed musically.
"_Bravo!_" she cried. "That is true. But go on--how do you make the
guess?"
"Your maps, your--pardon me--equivocations, and a few other matters of
the sort. Now it is perfectly evident that you are trying to forestall
me in some manner."
"Point number two," she agreed mockingly.
"I am free to confess I do not know why; and at present I do not care.
That's why I tell you. You are so anxious to forestall me--for this
unknown reason--that when smaller things fail----"
"You are of an interest--what smaller things?"
"Various wiles--some of them feminine. Delays, for example. Do you
suppose I believed for a moment those delays were not inspired? That is
why my punishments were so severe--and other wiles," he concluded
vaguely.
She did not press the point.
"When smaller things failed," he repeated, "you would have resorted
even to murder. Your necessity must have been great."
"Believe me--it was!" she answered.
He brought up short at the unexpected feeling that vibrated in her
voice. His face expressed a faint surprise, and he returned to his
subject with fresh interest.
"And when my eyes failed me, and you could have given me my sight by
the mere reading of a label, you refused; you condemned me to the
darkness. And, further, when I had a chance to learn my remedy for
myself, you destroyed it. I wonder whether that cost you anything, too?"
He sat apparently staring out into the distance, his sightless eyes
wide with the peculiar blank pathos of the blind. The Leopard Woman's
own eyes were suffused with tears!
"I remember now something you said when you broke the bottle of
pilocarpin," he said slowly. "I did not notice it at the time; now it
comes to me. 'I have saved your life,' you said. I get the meaning of
that now. You would have killed me rather than not have forestalled me;
but the blindness saved you that necessity. You know, I am a little
glad to learn that you did not _want_ to kill me."
"Want!" she cried. "How could I want?"
Kingozi chuckled.
"You told me enough times just what you thought of me."
Her crest reared, but drooped again.
"No women likes to be treated so. And if you had your eyes, so I would
hate you again!"
"I don't know why you want to prevent me from reaching M'tela, nor why
you want to reach him first, nor why in its wisdom your government sent
you at all. I'd like to know, just as a matter of curiosity. But it
doesn't really matter, because it does not affect the essential
situation in the least."
"You are going to M'tela just the same?" she inquired anxiously.
"Bless you, no. I have no desire to go blind. It's the beastliest
affliction can come to an active man. And glaucoma is a tricky thing.
I'd like to get to McCloud tomorrow. But still you are not going to get
to M'tela before me."
"No?"
"I am sorry; but you will have to go with me."
"You have the force," she acknowledged after a moment. Somewhat
surprised at her lack of protest--or was it resignation to the
inevitable?--Kingozi checked himself. After a moment he went on.
"Somehow," he mused, "in spite of your amiable activities, I have a
certain confidence in you. It would be much more comfortable for both
of us if you would give me your word not to try to escape, or to go
back, or to leave my camp, or cause your men to leave my camp, or
anything like that."
"Would you trust my word?"
"If you would give it solemnly--yes."
"But to do what I wished to do--as you say just now yourself--I am
ready to use all means--even to killing. Why do you not think I would
also break, my word to do my ends?"
"I think you would not."
"But do you think I would, what you call--consider your trust in me
more great than my government's trust in me?"
"No. I do not think that either."
"Well?"
"I do not think you will give your word to me unless you mean to keep
it. If you do give it, I am willing to rely upon it."
The Leopard Woman moved impulsively to his side.
"Very well. I give it," she said with a choke.
"That you go with my safari, without subterfuge, without sending word
anywhere--in other words, a fair start afresh!"
"Just that," she replied.
"That is your word of honour?"
"My word of honour."
"Give me your hand on it."
She laid her palm in his. His hand closed over hers, gripping it
tightly. Her eyes were swimming, her breast heaved. Slowly she swayed
toward him, leaned over him. Her lips touched his. Suddenly she was
seized hungrily. She abandoned herself to the kiss.
But after a moment she tore herself away from him, panting.
"This must not be!" she cried tragically. "I know not what I do! This
is not good! I am a woman of honour!"
Kingozi, his blind face alight, held out his arms to her.
"Your honour is safe with me," he said.
But he had mistaken her meaning. Step by step she recoiled from him
until she stood at the distance of some paces, her hands pressed
against her cheeks, her eyes fixed on him with a strange mixture of
tenderness, pity, and sternness.
"What is it?" he begged, getting uncertainly to his feet. "Where are
you?"
But she did not answer him. After a moment she slipped away.